His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, curiosity and hope warring in his expression, his hand tightening around mine. "Good something or bad something?" He asked carefully, his voice soft with vulnerability, like he was bracing himself for either answer.
"Good something." I promised, rising on my toes to kiss his cheek. "Very good something." I assured him, watching the grin spread across his face, bright and beautiful and real.
He drove me home with one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on my skin thewhole way. When he walked me to my door, he kissed me one more time—soft and lingering, full of promise.
"Thursday." He said against my lips, his golden eyes warm in the porch light.
"Thursday." I confirmed, watching him walk backward toward his truck, that ridiculous grin still plastered across his face.
I stood on the porch until his taillights disappeared down the dark bayou road, my lips still tingling, my whole body humming with want and warmth and something that felt dangerously like love.
Chapter Twenty
Artemis
The text came at three forty-seven in the morning.
Can you be ready at 4:30?
No greeting. No explanation. No context. Pure Silas.
I was already awake—had been for an hour, tossing in my nest and thinking about Thursday, about what I was going to tell them, about the way my life had tilted on its axis and refused to right itself. Sleep wasn't coming. Might as well chase the dawn with a man who moved like smoke.
I'll be on the porch.
His truck pulled up at four twenty-eight, headlights cutting through the pre-dawn dark, engine rumbling low before going silent. I watched him unfold from the driver's seat—all lean predator grace, dressed in dark clothes that made him nearly invisible against the night. His pale eyes found me on the porch, and something in my chest loosened at the sight of him.
"Hey, gorgeous." I kept my voice soft, mindful of the sleeping bayou around us, my bare feet silent on the worn wood as I crossed to meet him.
"Artemis." He said my name like it meant something, like the syllables themselves were precious, his pale gaze tracking over me with that unnerving intensity that should have made me uncomfortable but never did. "There's something I want to show you." He added, opening the passenger door without waiting for my response, certain I'd follow.
I did. Of course I did.
The drive was quiet—not awkward, just still. Silas didn't fill silence with chatter the way Remy did, didn't offer gruff half-sentences the way Harper might. He simply existed beside me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, close enough to touch if I wanted.
I wanted.
I reached over and laced my fingers through his, feeling the rough texture of old scars against my palm, the warmth of his skin in the cool morning air. He didn't startle, didn't pull away. Just adjusted his grip to hold me more securely, his thumb tracing a slow pattern against my wrist.
"You're up early." I said, watching the dark trees slide past the window, their shapes slowly becoming visible as the sky shifted from black to deep blue. "Or did you not sleep at all?" I asked, studying his profile in the dim light of the dashboard.
"Sleep and I have an understanding." He replied, his pale eyes fixed on the road ahead, his thumb still moving against my wrist in slow circles. "I don't expect much from it, and it doesn't disappoint me." He finished, something wry in his tone that might have been humor.
"Nightmares?" I asked softly, my thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand, not pushing, just opening a door he could walk through or not.
He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the hum of tires on asphalt and the distant call of an owl. "Sometimes." He admitted finally, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Less,lately." He glanced at me then, something vulnerable flickering behind his pale eyes before he turned back to the road. "Been sleeping better since..." He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.
"Since?" I prompted gently, squeezing his hand, watching his profile in the growing light as the sky shifted from deep blue to pale gray.
"Since I have something worth waking up for." He said it simply, like stating a fact, like it wasn't the kind of admission that made my heart stutter in my chest.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just held his hand tighter and watched the sky lighten. We drove deeper into the parish than I usually ventured, past the turnoff to his rehabilitation center and down a dirt road I'd never noticed before. The trees pressed close on either side, Spanish moss brushing the roof of the truck like ghostly fingers, and then the road opened into a clearing I hadn't known existed.
"What is this place?" I leaned forward in my seat, peering through the windshield at the chain-link enclosures barely visible in the darkness, the low building with its metal roof, the shapes moving in the shadows.
"Overflow facility." Silas killed the engine, his pale eyes reflecting the first hints of gray on the horizon. "For the ones who can't go back to the main center. Too wild. Too damaged." He paused, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Too dangerous for most people to handle." He finished, something in his voice suggesting he wasn't just talking about animals.
"Not too dangerous for you." I squeezed his hand, watching the corner of his mouth twitch in what might have been a smile, the first hint of light catching the sharp angles of his face.
